The Family - Mario Puzo [163]
Cesare laughed aloud as he examined each and every one, taking the time to look in the mirror as he placed them on his face, enjoying the many different images that appeared before his eyes.
A month later Cesare and Alexander met in the Borgia apartments, awaiting Duarte, who had just returned from Florence and Venice.
Alexander enthusiastically told Cesare of his new plans for beautifying the Vatican. “With much difficulty I have persuaded the artist Michelangelo to draw up plans for a completely new Basilica of St. Peter. I wish to create something magnificent, a glory to the Christian world.”
“I don’t know about his skill as an architect, but the Cupid I purchased tells me this Michelangelo is a great artist.”
At that point Duarte entered the room and greeted Alexander, kissing the papal ring.
Cesare asked, “So Duarte, did you find the villains in Venice? And do the good people of Florence again consider me an ogre, a devious strangler of the innocent, because of the events at Senigallia?”
“No, Cesare, they tend to believe that you did what you had to, and did it with cleverness and skill. It was, as they put it, scelleratezzi glorioso, glorious trickery. The people love revenge—the more dramatic the better.”
Now Duarte’s expression became serious, and he turned to Alexander. “Your Worthiness,” he said, “in the present circumstance, I believe true danger remains.”
“What is it that concerns you, Duarte? Serious gossip, or some fateful truth you have discovered?” asked Alexander.
Duarte said, “The conspirators may be dead—but their families are not. Now they are more angry, and will no doubt seek vengeance.” He looked at Cesare. “They cannot match your strength, Cesare, but they will never forgive you. And because the papacy supports you, the Pope too is in danger.”
28
CARDINAL GIULIANO DELLA Rovere paced around his apartments in Ostia, raging like a madman. He had just received word that Cesare Borgia had conquered Senigallia, and now the Borgia rule was law even in the place that had belonged to his family. But that was not the worst of it.
Once Cesare left to return to Rome, the troops he left behind within the gates of Senigallia had raped, looted, and pillaged the entire town. Not one of the women escaped—not even his sweet niece, Anna. And she was but a child of twelve.
The cardinal’s fury rose to such a fever that he was beyond even prayer. Instead he picked up his quill, and as he stood at his desk, his feet and legs trembling uncontrollably, he penned a message to Ascanio Sforza. “If the good in us holds to virtue,” he wrote, “evil will reign. For the greater good of God and the Holy Mother Church, we must now right the wrongs that have been done.” Then he gave the time and the place they should meet.
With his hands shaking, he held the sealing wax over his candle and watched the red drops fall slowly on the folded parchment. Then he took his stamp and impressed the warm wax with the head of the martyred Christ.
Cardinal della Rovere was about to call for a messenger when a sharp bolt of pain struck his head with such intensity as to force him to his knees. He covered his face with his hands, his head bowed. He tried to call out, but was rendered speechless by what he saw before him.
The vision, in slow motion, was of the standard bearer of the Pope, his white flag with the red Borgia bull embroidered upon it flying free in the wind. But as he watched the flag was dropped, and a thousand horses rode upon it, leaving it torn and tattered in the muddy earth. When he lifted his head and looked around, there was nothing in its wake. And he understood at once: the Borgia bull was slain.
He stood then, shaken by his vision,